It's well past dark when we finally make the second creek crossing and drop our packs. The halfway mark offers a brief solace. But we still have the big climb – two miles and nearly 2,000 feet of icy elevation before we gain the saddle, then a relatively flat final mile back to the truck. Sitting in silence we down chalky energy bars and nurse the last of our dwindling water. Lost in thought. Recalling what's recently behind and daunted by what lies directly ahead. I tug off

Overview: Having recently completed my fourth DIY "Western" big game hunt, I've come to realize two things. First, the importance...

It's Saturday. Wet snow slaps the wall tent in sloppy clumps. Somewhere, not far off, thunder peels – meteorological makings of the...